


You've made your bed (now lie in it)

by MotherMaple



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-07 19:19:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15226092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherMaple/pseuds/MotherMaple
Summary: ... and there was only one bed.(Betty and Jughead are in Karlovy Vary ahead of Veronica and Archie's wedding, and find themselves sharing a room, and a bed.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is inappropriate for users under the legal age of consent.

“Look, I know the movies are sexist as hell, and the books aren’t much better, but it’s cinematic history, Betts! James Bond drove his car on these streets. We parked in HIS spot.”

 

Betty rolled her eyes playfully and shifted gears, pressing down on the accelerator as the rented Bentley sailed up yet another uninviting hill. “Yes, and they’re beautiful streets and it was a great parking spot,” she laughed, “but I still don’t see why we couldn’t do it in a regular rental. This thing cost more than my actual car payment.”

 

“Imagine how much an Aston Martin would have cost.”

 

Pretending to shudder, Betty pulled to a smooth stop outside the Hotel Romance Puskin, one of the most popular hotels in Karlovy Vary. Collecting her purse from under Jughead’s feet, she climbed carefully out of the car and tossed the keys to the eager valet.

 

(Vaguely, she wondered if he’d won some kind of coin toss for the privilege; the other valet looked mildly put out.)

 

Jughead checked his watch just as his stomach let out a loud and characteristic growl. The valet grinned as he switched places with Betty, and readily recommended the restaurant next to the hotel when she asked if it was any good.

 

Hours later, stuffed with food she couldn’t identify if her life depended on it, and happily buzzed on good Czech beer, Betty reluctantly asked for the cheque and sighed that they should probably call it a night. They had a long day ahead of them.

 

The rest of the wedding party wouldn’t be in town for two more days, but as Best Man and Maid of Honour, Veronica had shipped Jughead and Betty to the Czech Republic early to get the lay of the land and liaise with the wedding coordinator at the Grand Hotel Pupp (which Jughead had also enthusiastically praised as yet another Bond setting).

 

It was peak season, and although there was a block of suites reserved for the wedding, not even the long arm of Hiram Lodge’s Black Card could get them in early, so they found themselves at the Puskin, famed for its breakfast and old-world feel.

 

It wasn’t a hardship.

 

As they dragged themselves up the stairs to the hotel lobby,  stressed voices could be heard from behind the beautiful glass doors. A mountain of luggage blocked their way, so they held back and tried not to appear to eavesdrop.

 

A deeply apologetic receptionist peered helplessly at the computer screen, her fingers dancing over the keyboard. “I’m so sorry, Madame, but there is no reservation under your name today.”

 

The 'Madame' in question clenched her fists and turned to her husband, an exhausted-looking man cradling a toddler so profoundly asleep that she was actually drooling. “You made the reservation, Henry! Where’s the confirmation?”

 

He shifted the child’s weight and fished a phone out of his pocket, handing it to his wife who unlocked it and scrolled rapidly until she found what she was looking for. Handing the phone to the receptionist, she dropped down onto a nearby sofa and looked briefly like she meant to slip off her shoes before thinking better of it.

 

“Madame, forgive me,” said the receptionist, “but your reservation is for tomorrow night.”

 

The woman’s head snapped up and she shot a venomous look at her husband. “I beg your pardon?” she asked in disbelief.

 

“The date on your reservation, Madame. It’s for Friday night.” The receptionist clicked rapidly through the computer and she shook her head. “I’m afraid that we are booked completely until then.”

 

The woman flopped back on the sofa and ran her hands through her hair. She took several calming breaths and stood up. “Can you recommend any other hotels nearby?”

 

The receptionist blanched, glancing at the nearly innumerable bags gracing the lobby. “No, Madame. At this time of year ...  I can try to phone around, but I fear ..”

 

“You can have my room,” Betty - or Betty’s Czech beer - piped up. Four sets of startled eyes turned towards her and she shrugged sheepishly. “It’s late, your baby’s exhausted. I can crash with you, right Juggie? You’ve got a double room.”

 

Jughead glanced at the mortified husband and snoring toddler, and nodded shortly. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, of course.”

 

The receptionist looked relieved, the burden of refusing hospitality to a child lifted. “Are you sure, Madame?” she asked Betty hopefully.

 

“Absolutely,” she nodded decisively. “And we only checked in today, so the sheets are still new. You can put her straight to bed,” she added, gesturing to the little girl.

 

The woman sagged visibly and smiled at Betty in disbelief. “You must be half angel,” she said with a tired laugh. “Our flight was delayed, we almost missed our connection, we just drove in from Prague, and now this. Thank you so much.”

 

Betty brushed off the praise and glanced at the pile of bags. “Do you need help with all this?”

 

The receptionist jumped in. “Oh no, Madame, we’ll take care of the bags. Let me just take your name off the room.”

 

Papers were signed, keys exchanged and finally, Betty lead the tired family up the stairs to her room. The man gratefully laid his daughter on the bed and Betty collected her suitcase and garment bag from the closet. “I didn’t even go in the bathroom,” she promised them. “Everything’s as clean as can be.”

 

The woman laughed again and shook her head, kicking off her shoes and dropping on to a chair. “I wouldn’t care if you’d left a bathtub full of hair. Thank you so much.”

 

“My pleasure,” Betty smiled. “Good night, enjoy the town.”

 

“You too.”

 

The door closed behind Betty and she turned to see Jughead leaning on the wall, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Done saving the world, Cooper?”

 

She blushed and shrugged. “I knew you wouldn’t mind. We weren’t going to let them take a kid out in the middle of the night, looking for room at the inn, right?”

 

“ ‘Course not.” He pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the next door. “But Veronica’s going to have a field day when she finds out we slept together.”

 

Betty tripped over a shadow and inhaled sharply. “Excuse me?”

 

“It’s a double room, Betts, made up for one person. It’s a king-sized bed, not two twins.”

 

“Damn.” She groaned and followed him into the room. Sure enough, a massive bed stood against the wall, and the only chairs were a couple of straight-backed armchairs and an overstuffed wingback. “Double damn,” she whined. “Why didn’t you say something?”

 

“Because I’m jet-lagged, 6 beers in, and a beautiful woman invited herself into my bed?”

 

Scoffing, Betty placed her garment bag on the closet rail and turned to face him, hands planted firmly on her hips. “Easy there, Casanova. I’ve met your girlfriend and she’s scary as hell. Don't even joke about that.”

 

“What girlfriend?” Jughead peeled off his sweater and tossed it over a chair, reaching up to smooth his mussed hair. “Sabrina? We broke up two months ago.”

 

Well, that was news. Something long dormant perked up in the back of Betty’s sleep-addled mind. “You what?” she asked, not sure she’d heard correctly. “Did I know that? God, how long was that flight?”

 

“You were in California on that wildfire story,” he shrugged, tossing his suitcase on the bed and unzipping it. “I never mentioned it because I figured Veronica would have told you all the juicy details. She pretty much danced on the proverbial grave.”

 

That, Betty had no trouble believing. Veronica’s animosity towards Sabrina was such that even those who knew her best were surprised by its intensity. “No,” she said faintly. “I’m sorry. What happened?”

 

“Same thing that always happens. It wasn’t working.” He pulled a toiletry kit out of his suitcase and tipped his chin to the bathroom. “I’m gonna have a shower. You need the toilet?”

 

Wrinkling her nose, Betty shook her head and stepped out of his way. “That was an unnecessarily specific question,” she informed him curtly. “You go ahead, but leave me some hot water.”

 

He grinned and tossed her a half salute as he brushed by. “Or you could join me,” he teased.

 

“Keep dreaming, Jones.” _Don’t go there, Betty. Just don’t._

 

Laughing, he puckered his lips at her in a mock-lecherous gesture and winked. “I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

 

“That’s nice.” Blushing furiously, and willing her thoughts back to the pure, Betty ventured into the luxurious suite and hauled her own suitcase onto a chair.

 

Since Jughead had first dibs on the shower, she decided that gave her the right to claim drawers for her own. She debated only unpacking what she’d need for the night, and then decided that 20 hours crammed in a suitcase was enough. She did _not_ want to spend her quasi-vacation ironing.

 

Finally pulling out the packing cube that housed her pyjamas, she suddenly froze and Veronica’s imperious voice invaded her thoughts. _“You’re staying in luxury European hotels, Elizabeth. You’re not sleeping in cast-off men’s clothes.”_

 

Her eyes screwed shut and she dropped her head back in despair; Veronica had proceeded to confiscate all of Betty’s usual sleepwear, even going so far as to take it home with her. The next day, an express package had arrived addressed to Betty, stuffed full of all the finest nightwear Coco de Mer had to offer. It was expensive, decadent, sexy, and completely inappropriate for the current situation.

 

Rooting through the cube for the least salacious option, she sighed in relief as she uncovered a silky camisole and matching French knickers.

 

At least she’d be relatively decent.

 

Through the bathroom wall, she could hear splashes of water hitting tile; the tell-tale signs of hair being rinsed. She paused thoughtfully and a sudden image of Jughead in the shower flashed, unbidden, through her mind. She bit her lip and willed it away, only to be assaulted again by the memory of him pulling off his sweater, his undershirt riding up and offering a brief glimpse of his toned stomach. Then, the bunch of his shoulders under his tank top as he’d hauled the suitcases up the stairs earlier that day.

 

Unconsciously, she shoved the relatively demure pyjama set into her suitcase and absently fingered a nude-coloured sheer lace slip.

 

He was single, she reasoned, and so was she. He was devastatingly handsome, she was ridiculously attracted to him, and they were both adults.

 

It wasn’t like she’d been wondering about it since college.

 

(Okay, she had.)

 

The shower stopped, and the sink faucet took its place. Betty made a quick decision, pulling out the sheer slip and checking her shower kit to make sure there was a razor inside. Might as well see what happens, she thought.

 

Worst case scenario, she’d blame it on the Becherovka they’d finished dinner with.

 

The bathroom door cracked open and Jughead sauntered out, bare to the waist with only a fluffy white towel to protect his modesty. Water droplets glistened across his chest and ran in little rivers down his …

 

“See something you like, Cooper?” Jughead’s teasing voice cut through her lascivious thoughts and she dragged her eyes away from the sharp angle of his hips disappearing under the hem of the towel.

 

“What?” she snapped, looking up at him. “No. What? No. I need a shower. Excuse me.”

 

Clutching the nightie and her shower kit to her chest, she barged past him and slammed the bathroom door behind herself, ignoring his amused chuckle. She leaned against the door, willing her heart rate to slow down, and mentally chastised herself, wondering if she should have stuck with the silk shorts set.

 

Too late now, she thought, stripping off her jeans and blouse. The air in the bathroom was still humid from Jughead’s shower, with the sultry scent of his body wash lingering in the steam. Her second thoughts slipped away as she stepped into the still-wet shower and let her mind wander. Forgoing a loofa, she carefully washed with rich shower creme, letting her hands linger where she hoped his might follow. The hot water rinsing off the suds suggested his lips, his sharp tongue. She couldn’t stop herself from imagining him in that same shower, his own dexterous fingers trailing over her wet skin.

 

Aware that every second she spent behind closed doors was another second in which Jughead might fall asleep, she hurried through her shaving routine and brushed her teeth in record time. Dried off and slathered in Veronica-approved body lotion, she slipped on the daring night dress and assessed herself in the mirror.

 

Even she was shocked at how tempting she looked in the deceptively plain slip. She tossed her hair tie on the counter and flipped her head over, deliberately mussing her natural curls, then slicked on a light coating of lip gloss and nodded at her reflection. A pleasant anticipation tingled through her as she pushed the door open and slipped into the chilly room.

 

The lights were off except for a small lamp next to the bed. Jughead lay on his side, facing the wall, his back to her as she crept quietly across the room. She really hoped he wasn’t asleep.

 

He was shirtless, the blankets pushed down almost to his hip, the long line of his spine interrupted by light ridges of tempting muscle. He didn’t acknowledge her or turn his head, and a sharp pang of disappointment lanced through her.

 

Until she noticed the mirror.

 

Her eyes locked with the reflection of his, his pupils dark as he watched her approach. A lazy smile appeared on his face and one eyebrow slowly arched, his predatory gaze sweeping over her form.

 

“See something you like, Jones?” she whispered, kneeling on the bed and crawling slowly towards him.

 

“You trying to seduce me, Cooper?” he answered back, his voice low and vaguely threatening.

 

“What would you say if I was?” She stopped in the middle of the bed, sitting up on her knees and reaching up to shake her fingers through her hair.

 

“About fucking time,” he muttered, rolling swiftly and dragging her down to the bed, trapping her under his body and leaning down to brush against her lips. “What took you so long?”

  


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	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after

They’d forgotten to close the blackout drapes.

 

It was already dark when Betty and Jughead had arrived, slightly tipsy, in his formerly private room; and by the time he’d finished getting her as flustered as possible (and she’d returned the favour by coming to bed in a nightgown that he’d originally mistaken for bare skin), closing the curtains was the absolute last thing on his mind.

 

Actually, there hadn’t been a lot on his mind, at all.

 

Of course, he wasn’t going to say no when she invited herself for a sleepover - Penelope Blossom herself wouldn’t have turned that adorable toddler out into the night - and he couldn’t resist the chance to tease Betty just a little. They’d been friends so long that it was almost second nature, but he couldn’t deny that a good portion of his Betty-focused flirting was sincere.

 

He’d had a passive crush on her for as long as he could remember. Not pining, not unrequited love, and definitely not the friend zone. Just a crush on a pretty girl _(stunningly gorgeous woman who could cover magazines without a stitch of makeup. Potato, po tah to.)_ who shared many of his interests and who could kick his ass at every video game known to man.

 

Who was he to deny fate the chance to jump in? What was the worst that could happen? He’d once walked in on her in the bathroom in middle school - and she hadn’t been brushing her teeth. If they could come back from that, they could come back from anything.

 

So when she’d prowled across his room dressed in a nuclear bomb disguised as pyjamas, he’d been only too happy to help her out of it.

  
  
  


 

 

A little bit of liquid courage and that _je ne sais quois_ that always seems to colour hotel sex, combined with the fact that he’d never, in his wildest dreams, even _imagined_ a lover like Betty … well. It had been a night he would never forget.

 

If he’d ever taken the time to think about it, she was everything he should have expected. In practice, though, she was unpredictable and exciting; equal parts generous and demanding, sweet and aggressive, intelligent and playful. Her usual composure morphed into a sensual confidence that left him writhing, gasping, even begging.

 

Wild and uncontained, with not even a hint of shyness, she’d done things he’d only read about in books; whispered filthy, sweet nothings that hit him like a physical blow; made him erotic promises that felt so primal they bordered on the divine.

 

Finally, hours later, as they lay panting in the sweat-dampened sheets, his mind reeling as he tried to process what they’d just done, she’d rolled over and tucked herself sweetly into his side and murmured, “I always knew you’d be good at that, Juggie.”

 

He’d given her everything he had, more than once, and her pleasure had been clear on her face; in the tension of her thighs around his hips; in the scrape of her nails in his hair, in the sheets, even on her own lush body. Her marks littered his skin - heart-shaped bruises on his chest, sticky with lip gloss; crescent-shaped indentations on his shoulders, not quite deep enough to be permanent; pale pink kisses … everywhere. A flush crawled down his throat as he remembered her painting that iridescent trail down his chest.

 

The late morning sun crept slowly across the bed - Betty, apparently not a cuddler, was sprawled out of his reach, still in shadows, while he basked (reluctantly) in the warm light.

 

Torn between closing the curtains to enjoy just a bit more sleep, or waking Betty up just to see her sleepy, sated morning face, he debated so long that her hair was already glowing gold in a sunbeam when he shuffled over to her side of the bed and started trailing teasing fingers down her spine.

 

She smiled in her sleep and wrinkled her nose, buttoning up her eyes and burrowing deeper into a dishevelled pile of linen. “Noooo,” she moaned when he persisted. “Sleep.”

 

“The day’s half over,” he said quietly, dotting tiny kisses down her back, pushing the sheets out of his way as he went. “How many times are you going to be in Karlovy Vary in your life?”

 

Sighing, she grumpily rolled over, pulling the sheets up over her breasts and shooting him a chastising grin as she stretched. “Cheeky.” She hauled herself up, remarkably ungracefully, and leaned over to press a lingering kiss to his lips. “Hi,” she whispered, nuzzling his cheek with her nose.

 

“Hi yourself.” His hand found its way to hers, resting on the bed, and he absentmindedly rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. “Sleep okay?”

 

“Mmm,” she murmured contentedly. “Everything about this bed is wonderful.”

 

He huffed a quick laugh and kissed her cheek. “I’ll say,” he teased.

 

Betty sighed and opened her eyes, her forehead creased in a silent plea for amnesty,  but a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I guess we have to talk about that, hey?”

 

“Maybe a little,” he said, half-reluctantly. “For the record: no regrets.”

 

“Me neither. Last night was amazing.”

 

He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of hearing that. “It really was. You’re … God Betty, even Eros wouldn’t know what to do with you.”

 

“I hope that was a compliment?” she asked with an adorably confused blink.

 

“Yeah.” He nodded, pulling her closer and brushing her hair off of her neck. “It was like making love with Desire personified,” he whispered, brushing his lips slowly down her throat. “You’re incredible, and if this is the only time in my life I get to touch you, it was worth it.”

 

“Oh no,” she sighed, tilting her chin back. “This won’t be the last time.” She wriggled into his lap and wound her arms around his neck. “This is too good to give up.”

 

He’d hoped she would say that. “So what now?” he murmured into her collarbone.

 

(Did it count as cowardly or chivalrous to put the ball in her court?)

 

“Shower,” she said after a thoughtful moment. “Coffee. Breakfast. Glass factory?”

 

He squeezed her waist playfully and chuckled against her skin. “Ok. Yes to all that, but I meant more in an interpersonal sense.”

 

“Right. Well. Date at the glass factory?”

 

“How is that any different from what we were going to do today anyway?”

 

“It’s not, silly,” she said, pulling back and bumping her forehead against his. “Except I’ll let you hold my hand. And you can kiss me if you want to.”

 

“You’re not afraid of screwing up our friendship?”

 

“Nope. We get along better than average already, we’re really good in bed, and I trust you. If it doesn’t work, it won’t be because of some earth-shattering betrayal or horrible character flaw. It’ll die a natural death and we can bury it and move on.”

 

“Morbid.”

 

“I’m blunt pre-coffee. Better get used to it.”

 

.

.

.

 

“She had to take a helicopter.”

 

“If it’s good enough for Queen Latifah, it’s good enough for Veronica Lodge.”

 

“There’s literally a train from Prague.”

 

Betty laughed and elbowed Jughead in the ribs. “ _You_ insisted on coming in a Bentley.”

 

“Yeah, alright,” he sighed.  “We’re all drama queens together.”

 

“Speak for yourself, Princess. I would have been fine in an Opel.”

 

He laughed and squeezed her hand, tugging her into his side and refusing to be embarrassed by the butterflies that erupted in his stomach when she snuggled against him.

 

Less than two days had passed since she’d Bettied her way into his bed, (He’d decided that her particular brand of good deeds deserved their own verb), and the time had passed in a blur. Nothing, as she’d so aptly predicted, had really changed except that he now indulged himself whenever the urge to kiss or otherwise touch her came to him. 

 

(And he'd barely slept in 48 hours. He was _not_ complaining.)

 

But, with the whirl of a helicopter blade, the honeymoon was over. Bags packed and transplanted from the Puskin Hotel over to the larger, more famous, and much less cosy GrandHotel Pupp, they were waiting in the beautiful lobby for the bride and groom that were causing such a stir amongst the staff and guests.

 

Veronica, somehow still immaculately dressed and coiffed after the long flight from New York and the subsequent trip from Prague to Karlovy Vary, descended the staircase surrounded by a cavalcade of staff and attendants - some belonging to the hotel, some sent by her father from home.

 

Her rapid-fire conversation with the wedding coordinator that Betty had been working with halted abruptly when she saw Betty and Jughead watching her with amused expressions. “B!” she squealed, running down the stairs and into Betty’s outstretched arms. “You’re glowing! The spas here certainly agree with you. Isn’t it amazing?” She gestured inarticulately to the lobby and launched herself at Jughead. “Torombolo! Have you been taking care of my girl?”

 

He easily caught her weight and returned her enthusiastic hug with a laugh. “Been sampling the wedding champagne, Ron?”

 

“Yes, and it’s fantastic! Can you believe Daddy bought the entire year? No one else in the world will ever drink the champagne from my wedding. I’ll be whispered about in oenology circles like some mythical being.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled the proud smile of a tipsy heiress, as though she was personally responsible for the quality of the grapes in her exclusive batch.

 

Archie, laden down with bags, lumbered down the stairs and joined them under the chandelier with an apologetic grin. “Apparently alcohol hits harder at 30,000 feet,” he explained in a stage whisper. “Veronica’s already enjoying her wedding week.”

 

“Nice bag, Arch. Hermès making a comeback?” Jughead grinned, nodding at Veronica’s purse hanging from the crook of Archie’s arm.

 

“Hermès,” she informed him coldly, with a sharp jab to his sternum, “never left.”

 

Smithers, Veronica’s personal butler, was busy at the reception desk, armed with a binder full of notes. Out of the corner of her eye, Betty saw him whisper in the ear of Veronica’s secretary who looked startled and hurried across the lobby to interrupt them.

 

Veronica sailed to the desk with astonishing grace for someone so clearly inebriated and flipped through the binder at Smithers’ request. She stood, tapping one fingernail against her chin, nodded her head decisively to herself and delivered her opinion on whatever the problem was.

 

Making her way back over to them, she stopped a hotel porter in his tracks, handed him a roll of bills and gestured at Betty and Jughead, then resumed her path with a bright smile.

 

“So,” she said. “Apparently my great-aunt Agnes has decided to grace us with her presence after all. Unfortunately, that means we’re short a room. So, we’re going to move the two of you to the Royal Apartment. You’ll have to share, but it has two bedrooms. Aunt Agnes can have Betty’s suite, and we’ll move my parents to Jughead’s.”

 

Before Jughead had time to scoff at the hand of fate shoving them into bed together _again_ , Betty exclaimed, “Veronica, no! You can’t put your parents in a smaller room and give Jughead and me the best suite in the hotel! Not when they’re paying for it.”

 

Veronica folded her arms and stared at Betty in confusion. “It’s the only suite with two bedrooms, B, and all of the other double rooms are assigned.”

 

“It’s fine, Ron,” Jughead said. “We’re big kids, we can share my suite. I’m not putting your dad out of his bed. No way.” He could only imagine the look on Hiram’s face if he found out that the kid from the trailer park, who he’d always thought of as Veronica’s charity friend, was soaking in his marble bathtub.

 

“But your suite’s a single …” She looked back and forth between Jughead’s unconcerned face and Betty’s poorly-hidden grin and her jaw dropped. “You guys totally fucked!”

 

“Jesus, Veronica,” Betty hissed, blushing. “Say it louder, why don’t you?”

 

“You haven’t been to the spa at all!” Veronica put herself toe to toe with Jughead and stared at him, awe-struck. “You’re the reason she’s glowing!” She turned to Betty and whispered loudly, “Is he that good?”

 

“Oh my God,” Betty muttered, hiding her face in her hands. “Yes, V, we’ve been … together. And I am not discussing this in the lobby of a five-star hotel.”

 

“No, of course not. Let us be elegant or die. Smithers!” she shouted. “Finish up without me, won’t you? Betty and I are going to the spa. Have them call ahead and get us a private room.”

 

Jughead watched Veronica drag Betty helplessly across the lobby and then looked apprehensively at Archie. “You’re not going to do that, are you?”

 

“What, give you the third degree about your relationship with my oldest friend? No. She’s a lady, and if you start kissing and telling on her, I’ll punch you into the middle of next week.”

 

“Thank God.”

 

“I am curious when this happened though?” Archie admitted, swinging Veronica’s purse absentmindedly.

 

“Long story, man. The other hotel was sort of overbooked, we had to share a room and …” he paused, wondering how much detail was required “ … there was only one bed.”

 

**_fin_ **

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my defence, I was left unsupervised. 
> 
> ie - it's all Jandy's fault.

**Author's Note:**

> Mother was bored and a one-shot was born. Jandy made me post it - the blame for this self-indulgent trash rests entirely on her lovely self. 
> 
> Unbetad and largely unedited. This took me literally twenty minutes to write - I came up with the whole thing while I was washing the dishes.
> 
> If you're ever in Karlovy Vary, I do highly recommend the Puskin Hotel.
> 
> If you're curious, the Bond movie is Casino Royal, where Loket and KV stood in for Montenegro. 
> 
> Grand Hotel Pupp is also the setting for Last Holiday.


End file.
